Mashed Potatoes with a side of Hemorrhoids

So what's for dinner tonight?  Steak and mashed potatoes.  Awesome! Some down home cooking for this lady and her family.

Did I mention that the potatoes are powdered and come in a bag?

I will never forget what a proctologist once said to me in Rio de Janeiro (see post here TMI).  He went off, "You Americans and your Instant Mashed Potatoes! Who the hell doesn't have time to make real Mashed Potatoes! And that's why you have hemorrhoids, that and your sauces."

I was like, Dude, you summed up all our food right there: instant, powered, and sauce.  Thank goodness he didn't mention hot dogs and potato chips.  I would have had to throw down then.

But he was so right!  As fast, fun, and easy for the whole family as that envelope of powdery goodness can be, it's kind of nasty.  There really can't be any potato in that bag.  Trust me, I've burned potatoes down to powder and it doesn't look like that.

I can't lie though, I'm tempted to use them.  It's just so easy.  Rip, pour, and mix. I don't even have to use milk. It's uncountable calories, saturated fat, and no nutrition mixed into one tasty side dish.  I can't image the trouble they went to finding the right mix of chemicals to get that real butter flavor. Now that's effort with a capital I-will-not-let-one-drop-of-real-food-get-into-this.

Oh well, when in Maryland, do as the Marylanders do.

I'll just call the above mentioned doctor when I get home and make sure he does entire families.  At least this time I can convincingly tell him that I am not having anal sex, just eating instant mashed potatoes. I don't know which he'll be more annoyed with.

What is Bluntness, really...

I noticed, last night, a little difference in bluntness between Brazilians and Americans.

Now, I know I've been quoted as saying that Brazilians are passive aggressive when it comes to interactions with others. You can ask a Brazilian friend to come to your party and they will ALWAYS say yes, or some derivative of yes.  That does not mean, in any sense of the word, that they will actually show up. 

"Come to my party on Friday!" Brazilian answer: "Of course! That'll be great! Let's totally do that!  I do have to check with my husband but of course we will come. We may have a dinner at my parent's house but we could swing by afterward.  But sure! We'll be there!"  And then they never show up...

And it works with everything.  Brazilians hate the word no, so much so that it was actually suggested to me that I don't use the word no when disciplining my children.  I should rephrase everything because the word no would squash their little psyches. 

Yeah, I'm American. That's not going to fly. No comes out of me before I even consider the question. Once that no is stated, I have space in my little brain to consider the other options.  And if I am going to say something, it's going to flow out as blunt and disorganized as my thought process. 

I can't help it.  We Americans can be verbal vomiters.  We say what we think. If you invite us to a party and we don't want to go, we politely say 'No, I can't. I've had a hard week and need to rest.'  or 'Maybe we could get together next weekend.'  Don't get me wrong, we aren't rude about it. But we're also not leaving people waiting. That's because Americans will wait, will get pissed, and will call you out on it.  But then that's a whole different blog post.

But there is one area in which there is a switch.  A total trade in bluntness and directness between Americans and Brazilians.  It happens when discussing personal issues.  Take this situation for example:

My husband and I were at a street party with a group of his friends, my Mother-in-Law, and a couple of her friends. We were sitting around the table having beers. This was soon after my move to Brazil and I understood little to nothing of what was going on. 

That's when my husband's friend turned and asked me in his broken, yet very understandable English "So how are you feeling? Mr. Rant says that you have a bladder infection" 

Call me insecure but I was embarrassed at the time. If only I had half the indifference I do now, I would have replied "I'm doing well. My doctor suggested to stop having so much sex with my husband and to urinate afterward when we do."

Of course, the shock of the fact that they were all discussing my bladder infection over beers, right there at a street party, was a bit much for me. 

I just couldn't see that happening at home. 

And the Brazilian personal information bombs can happen at any time!  I have heard "We never have sex anymore." "I have this itch." "Do you think this is weird..." "It's just ______and he/she is so embarrassed by it." "Do you guys like anal?" "I think I'm going to leave him" etc etc

And this is not with close personal friends. Just people I know.  

Personal information overload. And personally, this does not help me at all. I already suffer from sharing Too Much Information.  Now, I'm just a walking billboard sharing anything and everything going on in my life.  Hell, I even have a blog.

And I love that.  I love that it's ok to actually tell people the nitty gritty. Heaven forbid you say you don't want to go to beers but you can bust out that you have to get your hemorrhoids cut out.  I bet who ever you tell will even visit you at the hospital. 

There's just something almost romantic about it.  Still playing hard to get and yet sharing at the same time. 

It's like the matrix of conversation. 

TMI

This is too much information but, as I mentioned in a comment (I Dream of Waxing Vaginas), I have a funny antidote about a proctologist visit.  I didn't think I'd share but remembered that I have no shame!

At a follow up visit with my OB, a couple of months after my youngest was born, I was referred to a proctologist. I had a little friend hanging out the backdoor.  It's very normal in pregnancy and those little bastards can stick around for a while, especially when pissed. 

I warned you about TMI.

Anyway, he was angry and she said I really needed to get him checked out.

I walk into the proctologist office early one morning. It was huge, especially by Rio de Janeiro doctor office standards. It was also full. I was the youngest by an easy 40 years.  I sat, feeling more awkward than I have in ages, and waited.

Rachel.  My turn.  Ohhh man.  I sat at the desk and told him about my annoyed little friend and he showed me to his table. It was an innocent looking enough.  The tray of tools did not look innocent at all.

The check up went well. I was fine and everything would take care of itself.  I felt violated but not nearly as much as I expected. That was until we had our chat.

I was asked about my lifestyle. I should have known.

I told him I am a mother and had recently had a baby. He was 2 or 3 months at the time. I was then informed that it was unlikely my child caused my friend. Maybe he invited him but that's not why he stuck around.

I took the bait. Why then?

He said it could be my American eating habits. Instant potatoes, ketchup, steak sauce. I told him I rarely, if ever, eat that.  I live in Brazil. Can't even find the first and last, and I've never been a big ketchup person.

That's when I stumbled upon his point.

I was informed that I needed to stop the anal sex. Yes, that quickly. Ketchup to anal sex. If I could not stop, I had to at least stop until I was healed and after that I should only partake minimally.

For a girl with no shame, I was melting onto the floor with it.  I had nothing. For him, my lack of response only confirmed his diagnosis and he continued with his speech.

I heard all about how anal sex ruins the anus.  I also got to hear about the correct way to do it if I must.  Now, I can tell you my back door does not have a blinking open sign above it. I also do not judge. And although I did not appreciate the speech, if I was going to get one, I guess a proctologist would be the best person to give it.

Needless to say, I did not return for my follow up.  My impression, before said soapbox, was that he's an excellent doctor.  I just couldn't face it.  I've never been medically told off for sexual practices on such a practical level.  Not only did his accusation embarrass me but the medical way in which he approached it took me completely off guard. I just hope his daughter went to his mother for the sex talk!  If not, the girl is going to be asexual!

Not to mention, who can trust someone who doesn't like instant mashed potatoes!  It's processed goodness in 2 minutes that melts in your mouth and solidifies in your belly.  Shame on you Dr. Proctologist!